Zeros and Ones
by Deida
Summary: Besides the fact that they had to keep their relationship under wraps, and the small fact that Dethklok was about to go on tour, everything was perfect for the couple... Sequel to "Only For The Drummer".
1. Prelude To A Deth

**Disclaimers:**

I do not own Metalocalypse.

I do not condone the actions that may or may not take place throughout the course of this story, including but not limited to language, sexual content, drug use, and any illegal activities involving minors.

* * *

**- Metalocalypse -**

**Prologue  
**

Looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one had suddenly come down the lonesome stone corridor behind him, Pickles hastily opened the heavy wood door, stepping into the softly lit room. He glanced around, swinging the door shut behind him, sliding the lock home before turning around to fully gaze at the newly-furnished bedchamber. The room, originally neo-gothic and black, was now slightly more modern and decorated with a more natural lake theme, the circular bed in the shape of a lily-pad, the carpet a midnight blue with undertones of aqua. Not secretly studying home decor, Pickles could have cared less about what the room looked like, though maybe if it had become neon pink and overflowing with stuffed animals, he might have had to reconsider this entire thing. No, what he really cared about was what was waiting for him behind the emerald curtains, draped between the lotus pillows.

Walking to the bed, he brushed aside the gossamer veil, sighing softly to himself as he laid eyes upon the one thing he had been yearning for all day, "Have you been waiting long?"

A girl, no more than seventeen, with false blonde locks that hung well passed her shoulders, smiled up at him, her grey eyes twinkling in the dim light glowing from the paper lanterns hanging above, "Not too long, I suppose. Nothing you can't make up for. With interest."

Grinning, he crawled into the bed, mounting her willing frame with ease, his scarlet dreads falling into her face, but she was used to the feeling now, her lips teasing his neck as she kissed him. He caressed her cheek, thumbing her hair out of his line of sight so he could look into her eyes. They had been doing this long enough by now for him to know when there was something troubling her. He was pretty sure he knew what it was too, having tried to avoid this conversation for as long as he could. It wasn't that he was running from it, it was just that having this talk made it real.

He pulled back, rolling over so that he was on his side, facing her, "You know why I haven't-"

"Pickles, we're leaving tomorrow! We should have had this talk when we first found out about the tour, but I cut you some slack... This can't wait any longer!" She refused to allow him to get away this time, too bothered by the matter to just wait and see what happened, "I have to know what we're going to do about the tour. I won't let you entertain those sluts, not even for a moment, and you can't tell the guys that you have a girlfriend, because they will probably want to know who it is. Who knows what my father will do to you if he finds out about us!"

Sitting up, he shrugged indifferently, "What could he do ta me?"

She rolled her eyes, moving so that her head was in his lap, his fingers running through her hair, "Best case scenario, he would just beat the shit out of you. The worst, he would take me away from you, and we wouldn't get to see each other anymore. He'd probably report you too."

He was tempted to ask her what made her so sure that he would chose her over the band, but he refrained, knowing that she was still in a delicate place from her mother's untimely demise, "So, what can we do?"

She had given it a great amount of thought and had only come up with two options, "We could either bring in another person who could help us fake it, or we could-"

She jumped up, head almost slamming into the drummer's head, hand covering her mouth as she sprinted to the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. The poor thing had gotten the stomach flu from eating at the restaurant her father had taken her to last night, his attempt at spending some alone time with his daughter for the first time since she had moved in. It most have been something in the soup, because he had had a steak sandwich and had been perfectly fine. He was currently in the process of suing the company for serving sub-par food to its customers.

Wiping her face off, still looking a little green around the gills, she came back out after a few minutes, sitting next to Pickles, her head against his shoulder, "Sorry, this flu is totally wiping me out... But that doesn't mean that we're not going to talk about this," She added, seeing the hopeful look on his face, "So, we could ask a friend that we trust to act as your girlfriend, or we could ask someone in the band to cover for us."

He had been following her until she mentioned the band, "You want us to tell one of the guys about this? There's no way they could keep this a secret!"

She frowned, biting back the urge to run back to the toilet, thinking that there might have been one person able to help, "Not even Nathan?"

He considered it for a couple of minutes, deciding that it was a bad idea, "Why don't we just get a lady-friend to help? Don't you know anyone?"

She thought about it, "The only person I know who is old enough would be my old babysitter, but she's a les... actually, she would be perfect for the job! Let me call her, yeah?"

God, he hoped that her old babysitter wasn't a total let down (he did have a reputation for not being Skwisgaar after all)...

**- Metalocalypse -**

**End of Prologue  
**

The first concert would be in London, where they would stay for two nights before heading on to Paris, Madrid, Tripoli, Lagos, Zanzibar, Sri Lanka, Sydney, Tokyo, Beijing, Nepal, Moscow, Helsinki, Stockholm, and a few secret shows between. It was slated to be their biggest, most brutal tour ever, with laser light shows, vats of coffee, cream, blood, guts, and kitties, criminal beheadings, fireworks, and even a salute to the "biggest, baddest mother fucker who ever lived". It was an insanely expensive affair, global pre-ticket sales the highest in world history and growing...**  
**

Setting up for the gig, Klokateers everywhere you looked, Charles stood with Nathan on the wings, reminding him of everything they stood to make after the tour was over. Skwisgaar, Toki, and Murderface weren't far away, making sure that their instruments were in tune and ready for the show. Pickles was nowhere to be seen, a roadie testing his drum kit, the drummer hidden away in the costume racks, arms around his woman, a thin cute-but-mousy brown-eyed brunette keeping watch on the other side.

"Scout, I gotta get out there..." His voice lacked conviction, hands cupped around her breasts, jiggling them for luck, "Your tits are so sexy... I just want to take them and rub one out to them..."

"After you do what you do second best, I'm all yours." She whispered in his ear, doing her best not to wince at the pain in her swollen bosom.

He looked at her, ceasing the bouncing, a hurt expression crossing over his face, "What do you mean second best?"

"Trust me, that's a compliment," She smiled, kissing him chastely.

"What do you mean second best?" He repeated himself urgently, their time over at any second, "Scout?"

He was so adorable when he was frightened, but she hated to see him worry, "I mean that you do me best."

"So we could run away together and become porn stars?" He grinned, eyebrows raised, only half-joking.

"Guys." Their look-out coughed, alerting the two that their time was up.

"I wouldn't quit my day-job if I were you." Scout returned the grin, climbing out of the mobile closet, leaving him standing there for a few seconds while he waited to follow after her.

Watching her walk away to stand next to her father, arms crossed and a small smile on her face, Pickles went out on stage, joining the guys for the sound-check, Nathan currently going over the sets with Skwisgaar. They were engaged in a heated debate over which song to start with, the front man leaning towards "Bloodrocuted", and the guitarist fighting for "Murmaider". Time to get to work...

"Guys, guys," Pickles stepped in between the two, "I know what we can do. We'll start the set with 'Hatredcopter', then we'll ease into bloodrocuted and Murmaider from there."

"Pft, whatsevers." Skwisgaar walked away before another word could be said, taking his place on the stage.

The blonde was damn prideful!

"Does that happen often?" Scout looked at Charles, wondering how often Pickles had to act as the middleman and mediate these face-offs, "I mean, it looks like he's so used to it."

He pushed his glasses up his nose, "Pickles, uh, handles this frequently, though admittedly, he usually doesn't pick that song."

Under the assumption that he had chosen that particular song for her, she curled in her lips so she couldn't grin, "Interesting."

"Scout, about the tour, are you sure that you want to be here? I would imagine that the hotel will be an inconvenient place for you to study after the show." It was clear that her had other reasons for not wanting her here.

Frowning, she put her hands on her hips, "What are you saying? You don't want me here?"

"I'm saying," he spoke calmly, "That you're going to be exposed to things that I, as your father, don't want you around."

It was the first time he had spoken to her as a father, and while she appreciated the gesture, she wanted to be with Pickles, limited as that would now be, "I want to respect your wishes, but I'm here already, and besides, I think living in Mordhaus has already contradicted your expectations. But thank you for the concern, father."

He nodded, glad to hear that he had not fallen on deaf ears, his cellphone choosing that exact moment to go off, "Then excuse me, I have important business to attend to."

Watching his retreating back, she cried out before he had left the stage altogether, "Wait!" She ran up to him, quickly hugging him, "I'll see you later."

He hugged her back, continuing on his way...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Screams filled the night sky, millions upon millions of people flocking around the stage as Dethklok began the show. The bass trembled, hair spun, and the drums pounded. Groupies wailed out their unrequited love songs, howling with lament that half of them would not be touched by the objects of their lust, the fans chanting their undying support. It was insanity, and she got to watch it from backstage, got to watch him. Maybe she was wrong, maybe there was no second best for him after all, Pickles skilled with his craft, a natural in the arts of personal pursuit, a gifted genius at his chosen trade. He was truly amazing at what he did, they all were.

But her enjoyment was cut short, her body woozy still from the flu, the heat radiating from the stage, the wires and effects, finishing off her remaining resilience...


	2. Fearklok

Eyes heavy and lidded, still feeling faint, head spinning from hitting the floor (and probably some equipment), Scout woke up in a hospital room, an IV in her arm, pumping water and other nutrients into her body, various machines beeping overhead. The papered pillow crinkled under her head as she looked around the room, its bland whiteness burning her retinas, the doctor just outside the open door, speaking to the obscured shadow of a man, her vision too blurry to make out anything specific in his profile beyond the fact that he was standing behind a partially open curtain. They looked like they were fighting, but no words reached her ears.

What happened back there? How long was she out? Who was silently screaming in the doorway? Why was she alone? Where was she exactly? A London hospital? A French clinic? A healing hut in Tripoli? Mordhaus? And most importantly of all (in her mind), where was Pickles? Did he know of her condition? Was he with her? Had she been kidnapped? Had it been months and he had finally given up hope of her waking up?

Alerted by pinging machine indicating the slight quickening of her pulse, the doctor, Dethklok's personal doctor, reentered the room, sliding back the curtain to reveal none other than Charles. Relieved to see him, Scout was slightly panicked that Pickles had not been there too, waiting anxiously for her to wake up. Then again, she had no idea how long she had been out, so it was possible that he was still on stage preforming, unaware that she had taken a spill. Charles didn't look very happy when he looked at her, but then again, what was ever good about seeing a loved one in the hospital?

"How long was I out?" Scout tried to sit up, but feeling too weak gave up and settled for falling back against the ascending bed, "Thanks."

Exchanging a look with the doctor, Charles left the room without a word, scarcely without a look back at Scout, "Not too long, Miss Ofdensen. A couple of hours, just long enough for us to collect a few samples to make sure that you're doing alright."

She was unnerved by the doctor, "Err, thanks... Why was my father just here, and why did he leave like that?"

Sometimes - ok, most of the time - he really hated his job and wished that he had followed his mother's wishes and became a florist...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Shut up in the lobby, the show cut short when Toki had seen Scout falling to the ground in a seemingly unprovoked collapse, the band looked at each other, each and every one of them confused as to what had happened. Toki had taken up to asking every medial personal that he had seen walking by what was wrong with Scout, but had received no answer. Nathan, Skwisgaar, Murderface, and Pickles all just sat there, staring at the floor or walls, each pondering the mystery ailment that had struck down Scout. Pickles was the worst, hands clawing at his head, fingers digging deep. What had happened to her? She had been fine before he had gone on, hadn't she? Was it possible that she was dying, doing her best to keep it from him? Was it that she didn't trust him enough to tell him something like this?

Mulling over the possibilities, Pickles had not immediately noticed Ofdensen entering the room, a cross look upon his normally unruffled countenance. When he did finally recognize him, he was the first one up, crowding around the lawyer for word on Scout. Nathan and Toki were right behind him, Skwisgaar and Murderface not far behind. Maybe they didn't hate her as much as they had claimed?

"Scout, how is she?" Pickles asked, practically throwing himself on the other man.

"Ja, hows ams Scouts?" The Swede asked, his face bubbling with concern just underneath the stoic surface.

Everyone understood why Murderface had hated Scout, him being a world-class woman-hater, assuming that she was some stuck-up bitch with greedy aspirations. Skwisgaar was a little harder to figure out, though for him it was simple - she was off limits. Not the Abigail off limits, but an actual 'I-have-no-interest' off limits. She was young, but he'd scored (and impregnated) younger. From a business standpoint, she was an employee, a means for yet another law suit, and having enough of those, he tried to more or less keep it professional. But it was more than that...

**- Some Time Ago -**

Dawn warming the lead guitarist's face with its gentle rays, the morning otherwise cold and empty, the blonde sat up, looking around at his room, the shaggy rug free from any female adornment. The night before a blur, he held his head, calloused fingers pressing into his temples as he tried to recall a single detail after hitting the pipe with Nathan and Pickles. Loud music, louder girls, Murderface sulking in the corner after being rejected by the tenth girl that night. And a pair of eyes, grey like the skies after a storm, chips of sage and olive swirling in them, a faint ring of broken stumps at the edges. Those eyes would appear at random, first from behind a door, then in the back of the room, behind a book, and from a couch as they closed. Those eyes had watched the party, following one person in particular: Pickles.

"Pft, vad gör honom så speciell?" He lowered his hands, standing up.

Since he was awake, he might has well as get some coffee for his hangover. This hangover was nothing special at all, and he had woken alone, so he knew that the party last night had been a complete bust, even if he could barely remember it. Hell, the fact that he could recall any of it was a testament as to how lame it had been.

Striding into the kitchen, he was surprised to see that he wasn't alone, those eyes lowered over a bowel of marshmallow cereal, switching between the bowel and a heavy textbook, "Yous ams readings alreadys?"

Hearing the scorn in his words, she replied coolly, flipping the page nonchalantly, not looking away from the text, "We can't all be famous illiterates."

"Illiter-ka-rates? Whats ams thats?" He asked, curious to know if she had insulted him or complimented him.

She rolled her eyes, "Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

Positive that she was coming on to him (which she wasn't), he leaned forward, pretending to look at the book over her shoulder, "Yous thinks I ams prettys?"

Sighing, she sat up straight, closing the book, "You're not my type."

Clearing away her things, she set the bowel in the sink and left him standing alone in the kitchen, freaking out over the rejection, "Buts I ams everyones types!"

And there was born the mutual dislike between the two...

**- Back in the Present -**

Seeing even the likes of Skwisgaar Skwigelf concerned over his daughter was heartwarming, but he wasn't in the business of heartwarming. He was in the business of metal and brutality. Brutal was exactly what he felt, more angered than shocked to hear not only that his daughter had collapsed on stage, but the reason why. Hearing the news that the show had been stopped for a medical emergency, he had felt a knot in the pit of his stomach and he had flown back to be with his 'family'. Finding out that it had been Scout who had fallen ill(er), he rushed to her side, genuinely frightened that he could lose her for good. But when he had heard the doctor's diagnosis, all of the fear in his body melted away, replaced with blind wrath. How could it be? Had she really fallen to the band's ways that fast? He was furious, not at her or at them (though they weren't completely exempt), but at himself. If only he had been there for her more, taken the time to spend with her, she might not have turned down this path...

Charles cleared his throat, trying to bring himself back under control, "Scout will be fine."

There was something in the way he said that that Pickles didn't trust (though it also could have been the weed from earlier), "What happened to her? She was fine before we went on."

"I thought so too..." He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Never mind, its just something we have to deal with as a family."

Toki took offense to that, "Buts wes ams family!"

"Scout had some blood work done, and it came back that she..." He couldn't bring himself to say the words, even though they were just on the tip of his tongue...

Pickles had to know what was wrong with her, what she wasn't telling him, "Is it drugs?"

He would have given her anything that she could have wanted in that area, but she would mostly decline the offer. Was it that she was dependent on them but didn't want him to know about it so she would sneak away and use them in secret, without him? But no, that couldn't be it, their bodies never far apart, and she was dipping into his supply, because he wasn't missing anything...

Then it could only be one thing...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Scout looked at the doctor in disbelief, her breath caught in her throat. He couldn't have said that, it was impossible! Wasn't it? Thinking back, it made sense, but still, it must have been a mistake, because there was no way that she could have been... No, she would have known... No, this doctor had to be wrong, there was absolutely no way that he wasn't...

"I can't be pregnant, you have to be mistaken." Scout shook her head, outraged that someone would tell her such an outrageous lie, "I don't know why you told-"

Just then, a nurse came in, rolling an ultrasound machine behind her, a bright grin on her face, "Just checking up on baby."

Arguing with them that they were mistaken, she remained still, allowing the nurse to do her job, so to prove that they were wrong about her being pregnant, "You won't find anything, becuase I'm..."

_Ba-bum. Ba-bump. Ba-bum._ The sound shut Scout up, her eyes growing wide as she listened to the tiny heartbeat. _Ba-bump. Ba-bum. Ba-bump. _Looking down at her exposed stomach, the air freezing on the jelly the nurse had spread over her, her hand resting on the still flat-ish surface, Scout stared at herself in amazement, at a loss for words.

"Sir, you can't be in here!" The nurse said, her voice a million miles away, nearly inaudible next to the beating heard from the machine.

But it was enough to make Scout look up, to see Pickles standing in the doorway, hearing and seeing exactly what she was hearing and seeing. Seeing for himself that Ofdensen wasn't lying or misinformed, he could only look at the teenage girl laying bed in horror, her hand resting lightly atop the thing inside of her body. Too much for him to take, he bolted, leaving her alone, left to picture the look on his face as he ran, to remember it...

Heartbroken, she watched him leave...

* * *

**Disclaimers:**

I do not own Metalocalypse.

I do not condone the actions that may or may not take place throughout the course of this story, including but not limited to language, sexual content, drug use, and any illegal activities involving minors.


	3. Better Off Alone

There really was something inside her, growing, forming... A life... The life that she had created with Pickles... Pickles... She knew who he was, but she didn't think that he would outright leave her like that, knowing full well that she could see him abandon her when she needed him the most... She was alone, frightened, and with a child that she never planned on having in her wildest dreams. She numbly wondered if this was what her mother felt when she had found out that she was pregnant...

Sitting up in the bed, the ultrasound wheeled back out of the room, the nurse and doctor gone, leaving her to her thoughts, Scout could only imagine the look on Pickles' face as he ran from the room. Her mother was gone, her father surely hated her for this, the man that she cared for more than anything else long gone, all she had left to her now was five to six weeks worth of what apparently amounted to mistakes...

"Yous ams busy?" Skwisgaar poked his head into the room, standing hesitantly by the door.

Scout never imagined him to have a hesitant bone in his body, or for him to be the one standing there in the door, "Skwisgaar? What are you doing here?" Looking like he regretted his choice to see her, he was about to turn around leave, but feeling bad for snapping, she was quick to amend, "Wait, don't go. I... I could use the company. Even if it is you."

Only slightly ruffled, he remained, taking a seat by her bed, "Is ams shocked thats yous ams nots withs Pickle."

"I guess that he got scared away." Choking back the tears that she wanted to shed, her throat constricted, her chest tightening, she put on a pathetic excuse of a poker face.

"Nej, Pickle is spec-kals tos yous. Is sees thes way yous twos looks ats each others." He was as cold as ever.

Afraid that he had caught on to her relationship with the drummer, such as it was, Scout was quick to try to cover (heaven knows why she would try to help a man that had just spectacularly spurned her), "I don't know what you mean by that. I don't know who the father is."

Skwisgaar wasn't fooled, "Ja, whats evers yous says. I ams knowings this feelings ofs grows ups withs outs a dads. It ams hows yous says... diffikults."

"Det måste ha varit svårt för dig (It must have been hard for you)," Scout's self pity-party turned outwards, to the fastest guitarist alive, "men du inte bli alltför dålig, antar jag. Och jag uppskattar inte vad du kallade mig igår kväll (but you didn't turn out too bad, I guess. And I do not appreciate what you called me last night)."

It was refreshing to not have to use English, "Din svenska är förvånansvärt bra, Scout. Bättre än Toki. När lärde du dig språket? (Your Swedish is surprisingly good, Scout. Better than Toki. When did you learn the language?)"

"Högstadiet." She had taken Swedish as a third language at her mother's prompting, "Så, vad den snabbaste gitarristen vill leva med mig? Att håna min smärta? För att säkerställa din gudomlighet? Om så är fallet, spara det, är jag nog smärta som det är rätt nu (High School. So, what's the fastest guitarist alive want with me? To mock my pain? To ensure your divinity? If so, save it, I'm enough pain as it is right now)."

He held up his hand as a sign of peace, "Nej, jag är inte här för att skada dig. Bandet ville att du skulle veta att du inte är ensam. Som Toki säger, du är vår lillasyster. Inte Pickle berätta detta (No, I'm not here to hurt you. The band wanted you to know that you are not alone. As Toki says, you are our little sister. Didn't Pickle tell you this?)?"

She froze, looking away, "Han skulle inte säga mig något. Han såg mig, och han sprang iväg ... Men säg mig, hur arg var min far när han sa er killar om mig (He would not tell me anything. He saw me, and he ran away... But tell me, how angry was my father when he told you guys about me?)?"

"Kanske du inte ska se honom för en stund. Vi har aldrig sett honom så arg, inte ens när vi dubbelt bokat (Maybe you should not see him for a while. We have never seen him so angry, even when we double booked)," He added out of guilt, "Han borde lugna ner snart, och när han gör det, jag är säker på att han kommer att förlåta dig. Hur du säger i tungan, 'vatten under bron' (He should calm down soon, and when he does, I'm sure he will forgive you. How do you say in your tongue, 'water under the bridge.')."

She scoffed, "Lätt för dig att säga (Easy for you to say)."

He raised a blonde brow at her, "Hur så? Jag är inte så annorlunda från dig i detta. Jag har barn, kommer du att ha ett barn. Vi har ingen riktig familj, övergiven av dem som gör anspråk på att älska oss ... Vi är inte så olika, du och jag. Du får inte acceptera det, men det är sanningen. När du kan inse det, vet att du inte är ensam (How so? I am not so different from you in this. I have children, you will have a child. We have no real family, abandoned by those who claim to love us ... We are not so different, you and me. You may not accept it, but it's the truth. When you can face it, know that you are not alone.)."

"Du kan se ironi dina ord, eller hur? Du säger att du har ingen, och ändå du fortfarande insisterar på att jag har allt detta stöd (You can see the irony of your words, right? You say that you have no one, and yet you still insist that I have all this support?)?" She was cynical of his words, pointing out the major flaw in his argument.

"Jag är annorlunda, har jag redan gett upp hoppet (I'm different, I have already given up hope)." He sat up and walked to the door, turning to leave, "Sos thinks abouts thats."

She called after his retreating back, unable to follow after him, "Skwisgaar!"

He left with replying, looking at her over his shoulder. Pft, caring about someone else? His own mother hadn't cared about him at all, not once in his life, so how in the world could he possibly expect anyone else to? That was part of the reason he was the way he was - he craved the attention, sought constant and multiple companionship, but once he acquired a fraction of what he sought, none of his company able to satisfy his real lust, he left, shoving them all away before they could slip under his guard. What could any of them know? What could she know? The stupid girl, she had tripped him up when she had began to speak in his native tongue. He hadn't even let Dethklok in passed the frigid exterior of the wall he built around himself, not even Toki, not for a single second.

He didn't even know why he had gone to see her in the first place...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Leaning his head back up against the wall, a dread snagging on the toothy stone material, he gazed up at the nights sky, steel infusing with soot before the crescent moon, promising to rain. Rain seemed only fitting in this abyss... Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Pickles sighed, taking the time to collect his scattered thoughts. Grey eyes flashed through his mind, blinking at him in horrified, curious shock, gazing at him, half lidded in sleep, the first he had had with a woman without laying a finger on her, burning fiercely as she worked out some her frustrations at her mother's funeral, timid yet so sure when she had given herself to him for the first time. Seeing the world in those magnificent orbs, the ups and the downs, he had never imagined that he would see both extremes at one time. Illuminated with an inner light, he had never seen her happier than when she had been sitting in that room, but at the same time, he saw the fear in them, the uncertainty she had, and the unlimited, unintentional anguish he had left her with when he ran.

So enamored by the moment, the dream that he could not only be loved but be loved by a young woman for a reason other than his fame, Pickles hadn't spared a moment to think, to actually consider where this was going. He really did care about her, but could he honestly say that he loved her? He enjoyed being with her, and they really did understand each other, but at the end of the day, was it all about her, or her pussy? They had a great sex life, almost all the time spent together naked or half, pawing at each other liking starving animals, but was that all they had? It was true that he had been there for her as she dealt with the loss of her mother, but had the ultimate goal clouded his mind, convincing him that he had to put the work in? But if so, why bother with it all? She had made it perfectly clear that if he had wanted it, she would have given in.

No, Scout wasn't just some floozy - she did mean something to him. But what? He couldn't say that he loved her, but he wouldn't call her a fling either, so what was he expecting to get out of this? She was pretty much his girlfriend, even though she had to hide it, their age difference alone enough to warrant trouble. That probably wasn't easy for her to do, lying to her father and the world, to have to sit back and pretend that they were only friends and nothing more. He had never meant to hurt her, but he never meant for it to get this serious either...

Pregnant... It was hard enough to think about what Scout had meant to him without adding that reminder into the mix. Where to even begin with that one, honestly! He hated kids, and they probably hated him too, the messy, noisy bastards... And besides what business did he have, becoming a father? He was a good-for-nothing has-been who never grew up or got a clue. He drank away all his problems, blacking out more than half of his life, he was doing nothing to improve himself, he was miserable and full of self-loathing, not to mention he had a violent temper. It was a miracle that Scout could even put up with him, let alone sleep with him.

Even if he could get passed this to be by her side, she would never forgive him...

He was no good for her, and he would be terrible for a child... Her child...

* * *

**Disclaimers:**

I do not own Metalocalypse.

I do not condone the actions that may or may not take place throughout the course of this story, including but not limited to language, sexual content, drug use, and any illegal activities involving minors.

All Swedish provided through Google Translate.


End file.
